


I had all and then most of you (some and now none of you)

by brittandsanforever



Series: Brittana: the scenes that could’ve been [6]
Category: Brittana - Fandom, Glee
Genre: F/F, and some Santana/Puck bromance we never got, the infamous Hurt Locker scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittandsanforever/pseuds/brittandsanforever
Summary: This might be the scariest moment of Santana's life, but it's now or never, and she's not walking away without telling Brittany exactly how she feels. Part three of three works detailing the events of Sexy (2x15).
Relationships: Santana Lopez & Noah Puckerman, Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Series: Brittana: the scenes that could’ve been [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936897
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	I had all and then most of you (some and now none of you)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is lyrics from The Night We Met by Lord Huron.

It was Friday morning and Santana walked cautiously through the busy halls of McKinley, her hands shaking nervously but not from the cold spring air. Her face was still noticeably puffy from all the crying she did the night before, and she anxiously smoothed down the front of her dress as she walked down the main hallway. She had about fifteen minutes to find Brittany before her second period class started, and her eyes searched the crowds for long blonde hair. 

The speech she rehearsed _at least_ fifty times last night in her bedroom replayed over and over in her head like the lyrics to a song, it was the _only thing_ on her mind since last night, and she was determined not to wait any longer to get it off her chest. Thankfully, Brittany was at her locker, alone and seemingly lost in thought, which is how Santana often found her these days. 

Santana took one last deep breath before making her way over to Brittany, greeting her with a shy _“Hi,”_ to which the blonde greeted her back with a sad smile. Brittany was still upset from last night, since Santana pretty much blew her off after she asked the Latina to go with her to an Indigo Girls concert on her first episode of _Fondue For Two_. “ _Can we talk?”_

 _“But we never do that,”_ Brittany replied honestly, an underlying bitterness to her tone, thinking back to all the times she _tried_ to talk to Santana about them, about what the hell it was that they were doing, only to be met with rejection or some sort of distraction, such as the Latina crashing their lips together desperately in an attempt to ignore and avoid the one thing they really needed. 

“ _Yeah, I know, but, uh….I wanted to thank you for performing that song with me in Glee club. ‘Cause it’s made me do a lot of thinking. And what I’ve realized is why I’m such a bitch all the time,”_ Santana began, her voice lowering just enough for Brittany to still hear, eyes darting around the loud, bustling hallway nervously. _“I’m a bitch because I’m angry. I’m angry because I have all of these feelings—feelings for_ you _—that I’m afraid of dealing with, because I’m afraid of dealing with the consequences.”_

Brittany froze and felt her breath catch in her throat because _this was it_. This is what she’s been waiting weeks, no _months_ , and arguably _years_ to hear from Santana. She was in no way expecting the Latina to start unraveling her _feelings_ in the middle of the main hallway during one of the busiest times of the day at school, and it all caught her a bit off guard. Brittany noticed that Santana’s eyes were puffy and red, like she’d been crying, and she was doing that thing where she wrung her hands nervously and pulled on the bottom of her dress, and _no,_ Brittany wasn’t expecting this _at all_.

What Brittany had honestly been expecting was some hardcore _backpedaling_. Rachel spooked Santana yesterday, right after the Latina had been _so_ incredibly brave, and then Brittany spooked Santana _again_ just hours later by suggesting they attend an Indigo Girls concert together. It made sense that Santana would want to nosedive back into the closet, and Brittany had prepared herself for a speech from Santana along the lines of: _I’m sorry, Brittany, but I can’t do this. We need to forget the last twenty four hours ever happened, including the Fondue For Two serenade and Landslide and Miss Holliday, all of it._

But here Santana was, being so _vulnerable_ and _honest_ and Brittany was just _so_ hooked on the “ _feelings for you”_ part—just hearing her say those words out loud, _finally_ admitting it both to herself and Brittany, meant _so much_ —that she almost didn’t register the “ _afraid of dealing with the consequences”_ part. And then she realized that maybe Santana _was_ backpedaling, that she was finally admitting her feelings, but needed Brittany to understand that they still couldn’t be together. And that part _stung_ , and Brittany had to lean against her locker a little to steady herself for the harsh reality of the Latina’s words.

_“And Brittany, I can’t go to an Indigo Girls concert, I just can’t.”_

There was the rejection Brittany had been afraid of. At least Santana was acknowledging what happened last night, because Brittany wasn’t even sure if Santana had stuck around for the entire episode of _Fondue For Two,_ or if she’d shut her laptop after the song was over and missed Brittany asking her to go to the concert. A part of Brittany saw this coming. She knew in the back of her mind that this would be Santana’s answer, that she just wasn’t quite ready, and definitely not ready for something as....openly _gay_ like an Indigo Girls concert. But it doesn’t mean that it didn’t make her unbelievably sad to hear Santana say it out loud. 

And it clearly wasn’t _just_ the Indigo Girls concert. Brittany knew what Santana was really trying to say—they weren’t going to be together. Maybe they’d _never_ be together, at least not publicly. Santana wasn’t ready, even after all of this, and maybe that meant she wouldn’t be for a while. And Brittany wanted Santana to know that it’s _okay_ , that even though it absolutely _kills_ her, if what Santana needs is to jump back into the closet and pretend that they’re nothing more than friends like before, _it’s okay_ , because at least Brittany knows how Santana truly feels. 

_“I understand that,”_ Brittany told her honestly, her voice laced with underlying disappointment, but Santana wasn’t sure if Brittany really understood what she was trying to tell her, especially because the blonde’s face was all scrunched up in what looked like a combination of pain and confusion. This is what she’d spent all night pacing back and forth in her room rehearsing, so that Brittany would be 100% clear on where they stood. She _needed_ to make sure that Brittany understood. 

_“Do you understand what I’m trying to say here?”_ she asked in a timid, almost pleading voice. 

Brittany realized then in that moment that maybe she _didn’t_ quite understand where Santana was going with all of this. The first part of her speech undoubtedly sounded like backpedaling, but now….she wasn’t sure. _Why is Santana wanting to continue her speech if I told her I understand? What else is there to say if we can’t be together?_ Brittany thought. 

Brittany _doesn’t_ understand. And not because she’s stupid, like most of her friends and classmates assume, but because all of this sounded like a _s_ _peech_ Santana had prepared and maybe even _rehearsed,_ but she wasn’t really telling Brittany any new information. Brittany wanted to hear _more,_ there was _so much more_ that needed to be said, that Brittany needed to hear, that stretched way beyond what Santana had already revealed. This felt like a defining moment in their relationship, and Brittany wasn’t going to let Santana walk away so easily. 

_“No, not really,”_ Brittany replied, knowing that Santana would have to abandon her speech and elaborate. Santana’s mouth fell open slightly and she shut her eyes for a brief moment, as if she was carefully thinking about what to say next and trying to prepare herself. Something changed in her dark eyes as they fluttered open, and she was suddenly looking at Brittany with such overwhelming conviction and determination.

“ _I want to be with you,”_ Santana confessed, her voice small but sure, and Brittany had to take in a sharp breath because the Latina’s words once again caught her off guard. _“But I’m afraid of the talks, and the looks. I mean, you know what happened to Kurt at this school,”_ she continued, and Brittany could see the genuine fear in her eyes and knew exactly what Santana meant. 

People at McKinley had been _awful_ to Kurt after he came out. He’s been tossed into dumpsters, given so many slushie facials that his hair and skin had a permanent blue/red tint to them at one point, slammed against lockers so hard you could hear the sound from across the hall, called horrible homophobic slurs, and cornered in locker rooms. Brittany didn’t want _any_ of that for Santana. But she also knew that Santana _wasn’t_ Kurt, in the sense that Brittany knew she was _fearless_ and _incredibly strong_ and probably the most _intimidating,_ _ruthless_ bitch the school’s ever seen (okay, maybe besides Quinn Fabray). 

_“But honey, if anyone were to_ ever _make fun of you, you would either kick their ass, or slash them with your vicious, vicious words,”_ Brittany reassured, her eyes impossibly soft and her words true. 

Locking eyes with Brittany in that moment, Santana realized that if there was ever a perfect time to tell Brittany exactly how she felt, it was _now_. It felt like they weren’t going to get another moment like this, and Santana had momentum going. This was the time to finally make Brittany _hers,_ and she was already halfway there. 

_“Yeah, I know, but I’m so afraid of what everyone will say behind my back. Still, I have to accept that….I love you,”_ Santana admitted, her voice cracking as she tried to blink back tears and swallow the enormous lump in her throat. Her eyes darted around nervously, wondering if anyone else heard her confession. 

All of this was entirely new for Santana. As difficult and terrifying as it was, _all_ she’s ever wanted was the chance to love and be loved by Brittany, and this felt like the beginning of _everything._ Santana’s _not_ comparable to a lizard, like she told Brittany in her bedroom all those months ago, she just wants to be loved. _This,_ right now, was the pivotal moment to finally shed her _lizard skin,_ so she breathed in shakily and continued. 

_“I love_ you, _and I don’t want to be with Sam, or Finn, or any of those other guys. I just want_ you _. Please say you love me back._ Please,"she begged, her voice now _raw_ and _pleading_ and almost _desperate,_ like maybe she would break if Brittany didn’t say it back. 

Everything Santana was saying wasn’t a surprise to Brittany, she thinks she’s _always_ known how the Latina felt, but _hearing_ those words out loud and Santana saying _“I love you”_ in the way that meant as _more_ than best friends was _all_ she’s wanted for _months_ now, and it pains her deeply that Santana could ever think she didn’t feel the same way. She also realized that this was a _huge_ breakthrough moment for Santana, and it meant that her _Santana Lopez Lesbian Intervention_ plan was slowly but surely working. 

But then it hit her: _Santana wants to be with me, but not publicly. She loves me, but she wants to keep what we have a secret from everyone, which means we’ll have to pretend like our relationship doesn’t exist. Doesn’t that mean it’ll be like before, with the sneaking around and the lying and the hiding? It sort of feels like we’re going backwards, not forwards._

And Brittany didn’t want to go backwards. She couldn’t. Not after being in what felt like a _real_ relationship, like the one she dreamed about as a little kid, with holding hands in hallways and kissing each other during Glee club, and talking about feelings and dancing freely whenever they felt like it because they were so in love. 

Brittany realized in the moment that maybe she _did_ love Artie. And _of course_ she loved Santana, she knew that fact to be true ever since she was eight years old, and although now she definitely meant it in an _I’m_ in love _with you_ type of way, she couldn’t do this to Artie. He was sweet and funny and loyal, and came into her life at a time when she thought _Santana_ would be her first real relationship only to be _crushed_ by her, and he made her feel seen and special and wanted.

 _Of course_ Brittany loved Santana, maybe more than she’s ever loved anyone before (and maybe even more than she loves Lord Tubbington). Something about Santana was _different,_ and Santana made her _feel_ different, in the best possible ways, and Brittany’s not sure she could ever recreate that with someone else. But Santana still wasn’t ready. And that’s _okay,_ because Brittany’s intentions were never to rush her or force her out of the closet, but it means that at least for now, they still can’t be together. 

“ _Of course I love you, I do. And I would totally be with you if it weren’t for Artie,”_ Brittany lamented, bracing herself for Santana’s reaction, because she knew how the Latina felt about him and knew she didn’t handle rejection well.

The stuff about Artie was only partially true. She _did_ care about him, but Santana was _everything_. She’s always been _everything._ And she would’ve chosen Santana in a _heartbeat_ had it not been for the fact that what Santana wanted was a _secret relationship._ Brittany knew she just couldn’t do that anymore, she didn’t _want_ to. She wanted Santana more than _anything,_ but _every_ part of her, and in the bright fluorescent light of hallways, classrooms, and auditoriums—not just in the darkness of their bedrooms or parked cars. _She_ was ready for all of that, but Santana clearly wasn’t. 

_“Artie?”_ Santana asked in utter disbelief, feeling like her heart had just been ripped right out of her chest. She felt like she was sinking into the floor. This was _not_ how she was expecting this to go, _at all._ How could Brittany, _her_ Brittany, choose _Artie Abrams_ over her? It felt like some sort of sick joke, or a horrible nightmare, and she pinched the skin of her forearm over and over hoping to wake up, blinking back tears at the pain once she drew blood, which combined with the overwhelming heartache that was beginning to settle in. 

_“I love him too. I don’t want to hurt him, that’s not right. I can’t break up with him.”_

_“Yes you can! He’s just a_ stupid _boy!”_ Santana cried, not even caring that people were starting to stare at them, feeling the anger bubble in the back of her throat and blinking back tears again as she dug her fingernails into her palms. Santana didn’t understand—not at all. Most of the time she understood Brittany, even her ridiculously perplexing _Brittanyisms,_ as she called them, when nobody else did. But right now, in this very moment, Santana had never felt more confused.

 _“But it wouldn’t be right. Santana, you have to know….if Artie and I were to_ ever _break up, and I’m lucky enough that you’re still single….”_ Brittany trailed off, her voice filled with so much emotion it almost seemed like she was about to cry too, and reached for Santana’s forearm, only to be coldly brushed away. This wasn’t how Brittany wanted things to go either, but in the moment, she knew it was what she had to do. “ _I am_ so _yours. Proudly so.”_

Brittany hoped with everything she had that Santana understood what she meant, that she knows Brittany loves her and wants to be with her, that truthfully she’s _always_ been Santana’s, but right now—she can’t be. Not anymore. Not while Santana’s still unsure. Not while Santana still has to find _herself_ and come to terms with who she is. She knows that Santana needs to be entirely whole on her own first because Brittany can’t fill the empty parts of her, or patch what’s broken inside of her, no matter how badly she wants to. 

She knows that self-acceptance and coming out is _hard_ , especially for Santana. And Brittany promised Santana through an Indigo Girls song that she’d _always_ be there for her, and she truly meant it, but Santana needed to get there on her own first. Because Brittany’s ready for _everything_ with Santana, she’s been ready for a while now, but she needs Santana to be ready, too—and clearly, she’s not. Not yet, but Brittany knows that she will be one day, Miss Holliday’s hopeful words of encouragement still echoing in her mind, and that day will be the beginning of everything for them. 

_“Yeah, well, wow. Who ever thought that being fluid meant you could be so stuck,”_ Santana spat, a touch of venom and obvious pain in her voice. Her face was all scrunched up in pain and confusion, and she knew she was two seconds away from breaking down and crying right there in the middle of the hallway. 

Brittany instinctively stepped forward to comfort her, but Santana pushed her away, a little more aggressively than she meant to. She felt like she was suffocating, and she just _had_ to get out of there. She wasn’t exactly sure where she was going, but seconds later, she was sprinting through the halls away from Brittany and throwing open the doors that led to the back courtyard. 

There weren’t many people around, as it was almost time for second period to start, so she let herself cry, _really_ cry. The tears came streaming down her face faster than she could blink them away and she could barely see anything past the blurry wetness and _rage_ and _hurt_ that she saw as bright red flashes when she shut her eyes. 

And then she was standing in front of the wall, her fist connecting with ice-cold brick, and it hurt like _fucking hell,_ but it was _nothing_ compared to the pain radiating out from inside her chest, the redness and marks beginning to form _nothing_ compared to her completely shattered and bruised ego. So she did it again. And again. And again. And again, until she felt two strong arms wrap around her and was hit with the familiar smell of cheap men’s body spray. 

“Hey, what the _hell?”_ Puck yelled, grabbing Santana firmly by the waist and pulling her away from the wall as she kicked and fought against him. He guessed she must’ve punched it at least five or six times, because the knuckles of her left hand were bloody and already starting to swell.

 _“Get off me, Noah!”_ Santana shrieked angrily, wriggling out of his grasp and hurrying back over to the wall, kicking it as hard as she could with the toe of her Nike sneaker a few times before collapsing against it due to the pain. She noted how _this_ pain—the physical kind—somehow wasn’t even strong enough to numb the type of heartbreak she’s just endured. She’s actually sort of glad Puck stopped her before she broke a bone or something. 

“Damn, you’re a _mess,_ Lopez, what the hell happened to you?” he asked, standing over her to help pull her up from the ground, his brow furrowed in confusion. She nearly fell again due to the throbbing pain in her foot, but Puck quickly steadied her. 

“ _I did it,”_ she sobbed, gripping Puck’s bicep tightly as he held her up. His hazel eyes roamed hers inquisitively, trying to read her, as he’s never really seen her like this before. Puck was used to seeing her all snarled lip, Cheerios ponytail high and taut and bouncing off confident shoulders, eyes fiercely dark and flickering with trouble, piercing through you with just one glance—not whatever this sad, broken little puppy was. 

“Okay….what are you talking about? I’m gonna need some context here, Lopez. _What_ did you do? If you shoplifted again, I can’t help you. I am _not_ going back to juvie.”

“I _told_ her. I told her fucking _everything,_ I….but she…. _fuck,_ it’s _over,"_ she tried to explain, but failed miserably to get all of the words out, Brittany’s words still replaying over and over in her head. 

“You are _terrible_ at explaining shit, you know that? Do you wanna blow this place? Skip second period, maybe third? I know _I’d_ do just about anything to get out of Hagberg’s class,” Puck proposed as he held up his car keys and pointed towards the parking lot, which he seemed to be headed to anyway before he found Santana. 

“Okay, but you better be taking me somewhere that’s not super lame.” Santana followed him out to his truck as he carried her backpack, limping due to the throbbing pain in her foot. They drove in silence to wherever Puck was taking them, the only sounds being Santana’s quiet sobs and the rock music playing from Puck’s speakers, and even with her injuries, all Santana could think about was _BrittanyBrittanyBrittany_ and _of course I love you,_ and _I love him, too_. 

“I said somewhere _not_ super lame,” Santana teased as she sat down opposite Puck in a booth at Lima’s small local donut shop, Pat’s, watching him place a box of freshly-made donuts between them on the table.

“Hey, this place is _my_ Lima Bean, okay? I get my buzz from Monsters, _not_ overpriced lattes, and I’d rather not see those obnoxious blazer-wearing twinks everywhere I turn. These donuts, though? They can take your pain away. I could eat an entire box in one sitting,” Puck said as he reached to open the box and took out one of the still-warm glazed donuts, shoving the entire thing into his mouth. 

“I’m sure your hippopotamus girlfriend does daily,” Santana jeered, eyes widening in amusement as she watched Puck try to chew the entire donut that was in his mouth, his cheeks impossibly full like a chipmunk. 

“Cool it with the jabs at Lauren,” he replied after finally swallowing and washing it down with chocolate milk. “You know, I could always arrange a round two with her for you, so you could take out all of this crazy anger on someone who’s got a little padding and not a fucking _brick wall_. We _need_ you for Regionals, Lopez. You can’t really dance or hold a mic with a busted leg and hand.”

“Yeah well I don’t give a _drenched sewer rat’s ass_ about Regionals anymore. And at this point I would _pay_ Zizes to beat the living crap out of me just so that I could be loaded with all sorts of pain meds and avoid feeling like _this,”_ Santana said bitterly, wincing as she slammed her injured hand down on the table.

“Okay, you need to tell me what the hell happened. But first we need to do something about your hand because _holy hell,_ that thing is all kinds of swollen and nasty, woman,” Puck said as he made a face and then jumped out of the booth and walked over to the counter, mumbling something to the cashier. He returned seconds later with a bag full of ice and slid it to the Latina across the table. 

She gave him a grateful look and cautiously placed the bag on top of her bloodied knuckles, wincing at the jolts of pain that shot through her as the ice first burned then soothed her. She wished there was something that could fix what she was feeling _inside._ Puck looked at her with probing, curious eyes, waiting for her to speak. “Lopez. Talk.”

“ _I did it,_ okay? Remember after Berry’s party, the….” She trailed off nervously, eyes flickering around the empty booths surrounding them before continuing. _“Super secret, private shit_ I told you, that I didn’t actually _mean_ to tell you?”

“Oh, I remember….it still blows my fuckin’ mind. Never in a million years did I think _you_ of all chicks would turn out to be a _lady lover,”_ Puck said crudely, causing Santana to scowl and kick at his shins underneath the table. “Hey, hey, it’s cool….I learned my lesson after being such a dick to Kurt. I could be down with all that shit.... _you know,_ Tegan and Sara, rainbow flags, and did you know there’s a show called _The L Word_ that’s about this group of hot lesbians who all bang each other? We should totally watch it together.”

“Do you wanna hear what happened or not, you ass?”

“Fine, okay, I’m just trying to be supportive here. Wait….if this is about B-Dog, that means you _told her,_ didn’t you? You told her how you felt. Is that what the whole singing Stevie Nicks with Hottie Holliday thing was about?” Puck asked, and Santana replied with a hesitant nod and then began to tell him everything that happened before and after _Landslide_. He ate two more donuts while she told the story and kept pushing the box towards her to take one (she didn’t of course, as she thought the only thing worse than being heartbroken is being heartbroken and _fat)._

“And then I told her everything. _Everything._ I spilled my _fucking_ guts to her. My _whole damn heart_. I didn’t hold anything back this time. And you know what? It wasn’t enough. She _still_ chose that idiot nerd in a wheelchair over _me,"_ Santana sniffled, burying her face into her one good hand that wasn't resting underneath an ice pack. She felt like such a fool, a complete _idiot_ _,_ for giving Brittany _everything_ she had despite it being the hardest thing she's _ever_ done only to end up with absolutely _nothing_ to show for it, not even her damn dignity, and the nerdy kid with the greasy hair in the freakin' wheelchair gets _her_ girl.

“Okay, look, I don’t wanna sound like a dick for saying this but….what did you expect? You didn’t want her to jump into your arms and shove her tongue down your throat in front of the entire school, because you’re obviously not ready for that shit. But you expected her to dump the cripple for you? So that she could what….continue to sneak around?” Puck inquired, and Santana slowly processed his words, realizing that he was actually making _some_ sense. He was....actually _right._ “Clearly she doesn’t want that anymore. She wants something she doesn’t have to hide, which I’m telling you is the _only_ reason she’s not dumping his sorry ass right now.”

“But she knows that I’m _trying,_ she knows that I….I want all of that with her more than _anything_. She _has_ to know that, right? I mean, she said she _loved_ me….how can she love _him_ too?”

Puck thought carefully for a moment, scratching at the side of his shaved head. “That….I have no idea. She could just be confused. I mean, she’s _Brittany._ But you need to figure your shit out, woman, because the only way you’re gonna get _that_ girl in your arms is if you give her what she wants and what she deserves, which is going _public_.”

“I want to….so badly. I _fucking_ want—I’d do _anything_ for her. But this….I just can’t. Not yet. I need more time, I….” Santana trailed off, her voice sad and suddenly panicked.

“So then take some damn time, Lopez. Why do you have to rush this? If you’re not ready, _you’re not ready._ Look, you know you like chicks. You know it, I know it, Britt knows it, who knows who else knows it. But you gotta learn to accept that shit….it’s gonna take time. But your girl isn’t going anywhere, and I don’t think you have to worry about Wheels. I have a feeling they won’t last when school’s out.”

“You know _what....no. Screw_ this. _Screw_ Brittany, and _screw_ Wheels, because I’m over this. If _this_ is what she wants, if _he’s_ who she wants to be with, then _screw_ her—I’m _done,”_ Santana grumbled bitterly, shoving her feelings down back into that deep, dark place she’s always kept them, a smirk suddenly playing on her lips as she thought of her next move. “And anyways, I’ve got a devilishly handsome boyfriend who’s just waiting to have those giant, pillowy froggy lips kissed until he can’t even feel them.”

“Are you for real right now? You don’t mean any of that, and you definitely don’t wanna be with _Evans_. Come on, Lopez, I can see right through you. Usually I can’t, usually you’re a fucking _enigma_ , but right now, this _weepy,_ _fragile_ you, is super easy to read. You _love_ her, you can’t just bury that shit, especially now that you went and told her everything.”

Santana rolled her eyes at Puck thinking he could tell her what to do, even though she knew deep down that he was right. About everything. _When the hell did he get so good at giving advice?_ she thought. “Actually, I _can_ bury it, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. It’s what I _have_ to do, or I won’t get through this, Noah. It hurts too fucking much. I’d rather pretend she doesn’t exist at all then face the reality that she chose _Wheels_ over _me,”_ she finished, grimacing at just the mention of his name. 

“It’s your life, S. I already told you what _I_ think. You have a lot of crap to figure out, deep personal crap I won’t even pretend to know the first thing about. But I’m your guy if you ever need to vent, or knock back a few cold ones with to forget about it for a while. But let me tell you one thing—the best thing I ever did was stop giving a damn about what other people think, because if I still did, I definitely wouldn’t be with Lauren….and I’d probably be back in juvie."

“Puck…. _thanks,”_ she told him, her smile and light squeeze of his forearm saying the rest of the words that were just too sappy for her to say out loud. He was turning out to be a damn good friend, and has come a long way from the total douchebag jock he was just last year. They both used to be terrible people who’re now making strides to change for the better, and maybe that’s why they gravitated towards each other. All she knew is that Puck was a _decent_ guy, and maybe her _only_ friend right now that had her back. “I needed this.”

“What are bro’s for if not to buy you junk food that you don't even eat and give mediocre advice when you’re sad?" Puck mused, standing up to put his letterman jacket back on. "Anyway, we should probably head back. I’ll grab some fresh ice before we go, ‘cause you can’t go damaging that hand, Lopez, you _need_ it. Can’t really work that finger magic on any hot, flexible cheerleaders without it," he smirked, resulting in a hard punch in the arm from Santana from what he was suggesting.

Puck drove them back to the school, and Santana almost went straight to her car in the parking lot to drive herself home, knowing that having to face Brittany _at all_ the rest of the day would be absolute _torture,_ but then she abruptly turned around and ran back towards Puck, who was already making his way to the back courtyard. "You good, Lopez?" he asked as she walked next to him, trying to keep up with his strides while her foot was still _killing_ her.

"No, but I will be," she told him as he held the door open for her, knowing those words couldn’t have been more true in that moment. She just hoped that she wouldn't run into _Wheels_ for the rest of the day, because she might just get the sudden urge to shove him down the stairs, or the ramp that leads right to the parking lot.  
  
Santana realized something as she walked tentatively through the hallway and approached the lockers where she’d poured her entire heart out to Brittany just hours ago, and ended up with hers completely shattered. _Brittany wasn’t hers anymore._ And maybe she hadn’t been for a long time, maybe she was _never_ really hers to begin with. But it always _felt_ like Brittany belonged to her, even when they were young, it’s always been _Santana and Brittany,_ and now it was just Santana. And that realization _hurt_.

She felt physically _sick_ passing by their lockers, like she could still _smell_ Brittany's sweet flowery perfume, _see_ those sad blue eyes that were now permanently burned into her memory, _hear_ Brittany telling her _I am so yours_ when that couldn’t be farther from where they stood right now, and _feel_ the rush of adrenaline and anger coursing through her at Brittany's attempted hug.

Today had been an absolute _disaster,_ and it wasn't even noon, with the only feeling of relief being that she _finally_ got everything off her chest, she _finally_ told Brittany exactly how she felt after _years and years_ of keeping it all buried inside. And despite the heartbreak that felt like it was all but consuming her, it somehow also felt _freeing,_ like this was the start of a new chapter, with the focus being on _herself,_ and not Brittany. This was the first step....now she just had to figure out what the next one would be.


End file.
